Vase
by Ziven
Summary: [Post canon, M/M, TW] It shouldn't have taken him so long to realize that the container was much stronger than the contained. -Angstshipping, Malik x Ryou- done for the YGO fanfiction contest


_**Va/se**_

The experience had left him changed.

Malik should have noticed it sooner. Instead, he had thought it habit for Ryou to return late in the evenings, habit for him to disappear for hours when made upset—habit to top him in bed. Ryou had never been the aggressive type, after all.

Malik missed the rough embrace of Ryou's other half—imposed half, really—and since _he _had gone, defeated by the Pharaoh, he'd had no choice but to stick with the monotony of it all: always topping, always pushing, always initiating. As much as he loved Ryou, sometimes he couldn't help his annoyance. Frustration had a way of building up. And when he did get the chance to let it loose on his lover, Ryou simply listened and left.

On a walk, no doubt.

And on those nights when he'd been left alone, Malik would think of...being _abused_ by Bakura. The thoughts were enough to grant him momentary ecstasy. Why couldn't Ryou just try—a little? Sure, Bakura had not been kind to him, and Malik truly agreed: that evil son-of-a-bitch could rot in hell, for all he cared!

But that didn't stop Malik from asking himself: _did Ryou have to be so weak?_ Being passive had never helped to keep anything in motion.

"Where were you?" Malik decided to ask that time. It was about three in the morning, and Ryou had been gone since midnight.

"A walk," Ryou said. "To clear my head. To think about what you said."

"And?" Malik rounded on him—he wasn't letting up. Ryou was always thinking. "You always run away when we talk. Does it yield anything? Are you getting anything _done_, going out to walk and think?" It was a process of dealing with a problem that didn't involve him. Could it really do any good if he _wasn't_ involved?

"Yes," Ryou answered. It took a few seconds more for Malik to realize that Ryou wasn't going to add anything to it.

"...and that's it? You have nothing else to say?"

Ryou fidgeted, wringing his hands. "I'm _sorry_," he gushed. Malik couldn't tell if he was apologizing for the silence, or for the lack of interaction between them—which had been his eariler complaint; the actual problem.

"And that makes things better?" Malik crossed his arms. "I usually let you go simmer down, but that's not happening this time, Ryou. I'm tired of our routine. We barely talk, you're gone all day, our time together...leaves a lot to be desired." e sighed, unsure if he was doing the right thing. Was this the right time to bring this up? "Maybe this...isn't...—"

"_Don't_." He heard Ryou interrupt. Couldn't see him, because Malik was looking at the floor. "Stop. Don't say that."

Did that mean that he was right? Ryou's voice sounded so strained. Was he crying? He didn't want to leave Ryou—or make him cry. The poor boy was very fragile already. He huffed, and crossed his arms. He just wanted some results, dammit. Some _change. _He needed _something _to be different.

"Ryou, you're not leaving me much choice." He gathered the courage to look at Ryou head on.

Those big brown eyes widened more than Malik had ever thought possible. "I can't...I couldn't stand it if you leave. I..." Ryou clenched his fists. "I won't let you. You can't..." His voice was still straining, and it still sounded like he was going to cry—but he had been insistent.

It was different.

But Malik didn't like making him beg, either. He sighed, running a nervous hand through his hair. Would he be able to move on, if he left Ryou? _Hypothetically_, of course. He wouldn't leave; he couldn't. Ryou needed him. He was there: broken, beaten—how he had survived Bakura for those years was beyond him.

He would _push_, though, for something different. Already, the conversation had taken a turn that was out of the ordinary. Ryou had _insisted_. That was very important. Malik decided to move toward the door. It wasn't begging that he wanted—it was substance. Feeling. _More_.

"Mal-Malik, please!" Ryou said, and then he was crying. Malik strode past Ryou, pausing only at the word 'please'. He kept his back turned, shaking his head. No, that was _wrong_. He wanted Ryou to _know_, to give him what he wanted without him having to ask. Asking hadn't gotten him anywhere. Malik took another step and he heard Ryou turn to face him, eyes on the door despite the tears. "Malik, don't open that door! DON'T!—go..." the voice had risen, much louder than Ryou had ever spoken to him, and then he relented, as though he'd realized how loud he was being. A bit better. Maybe, if he pushed a little more...—

His face hit the door's surface before his fingers reached the handle, and he was barely able to turn his neck to avoid his nose being smashed. It _hurt,_ and his head was ringing; it took a few moments for him to realize that Ryou had all but tackled him. Malik was being pinned against the door to keep him from opening it.

"Ryou—!"

A forehead pressed on his back, and he heard Ryou's sniffling tears. It wasn't until he tried to turn around that he noticed he couldn't. Ryou was holding him there, arms keeping his own pressed against the door. "You can't leave me," he cried. "I love you."

Malik's eyebrows furrowed as he struggled against the pale hands. "Ryou. Let go of me."

"You'll just leave," Ryou said, chest pressing into Malik's back. "You can't go."

"I'm not going to go, Ryou." Now it was becoming annoying. Malik wasn't a wimp by any means. Since when was Ryou able to restrain him like this? The man couldn't even give a strong handshake, let alone... "Let _go _of me." He tried again, experimentally, to jerk away from the fingers gripping his wrists: no avail.

Finally Ryou stepped back, and his hands immediately retreated, delicately, to his mouth. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..." He looked away. "I shouldn't have touched you."

Malik was already upon him, hands shaking his shoulders. Ryou's body felt limp again. "What the hell was that?"

"Nothing," Ryou said.

"Yeah, 'nothing' that had me against the wall for a minute or two. What was that, Ryou? Have you been secretly working out or something?" As odd as the idea was, Malik had been equally insulted and aroused by the gesture. Ryou hadn't always been like that. Not by a long shot. He would have noticed.

But Ryou was quiet and said nothing except, "I shouldn't have put my hands on you."

Malik's brows narrowed for the second time, and he decided to be bold. He was best at that sort of thing, anyway. "But you should," he announced, smiling just a little. "That's what I want. For you to treat me like I'll get away if you don't watch me. You never know..." he joked.

Ryou's frown didn't encourage him. "No," he whispered.

"No?"

"No."

"Well why the fuck not?" Malik shouted. "I've been talking to you for weeks—you finally, _finally_ do something I like, and then you won't ever do it again? I don't get it. I don't get _you_. What's going on?" Ryou tried to turn away, but Malik's arms righted him—or, more correctly, Ryou _let _himself be righted. "What don't I know about?"

Ryou turned away. "I just want to be normal, Malik. I don't want to hurt you."

At this, Malik grinned. "I like being hurt. It's not something you should feel bad about."

"There is a difference," Ryou told him, "between hurting you and _hurting _you."

"Ryou, I don't have time for your word games. Say what you mean, or I really _am _going to leave." Not really. Not after being held like that, but he wanted more. Ryou always said nothing, just walked away, and they were finally talking. Things were happening and they were _different_.

"I..." Ryou sighed. "I have nightmares, Malik."

"Yes, I know that. You've always had them."

"About you, about Yuugi; about everyone."

"Well, I kind of assumed that. Bakura kind of wanted to kill everything. Makes sense."

"But it's not _him_. It's _me._ I...sometimes you just make me so _angry,_Malik."

That was a bit of a surprise. "Well, it's nice to know I make you feel _something_."

"Don't say that." Ryou held his head in his hands.

Malik felt like he was on the brink of something. Ryou was about to say something important. "Keep talking."

"I don't just get angry, Malik. I have to either leave or...or I'm going to hit you." He was crying again. "And I just...have to work off my anger. It's not...just shaking you or yelling at you." He looked up at Malik, face stained with tears. "I _need_ you to be here, and be angry with me. If you don't...I—Malik, if I hit you, I don't think I could stop myself. It's—it's not just Bakura. He's gone. _I'm_...I'm just a—" He took a deep breath, swallowed some air. "Malik, do you know what I'm saying?"

He was trying to figure that out. He wanted to. "So...you have some sort of anger issue?" The idea excited him more than anything, honestly. As serious as Ryou was about this, he didn't really see the problem. Bakura had been pretty fucked up, and he had been expecting a bit more to deal with than the listless Ryou that floated about their apartment. He had expected a lot more.

"If I don't hold myself back," Ryou declared, "...I think I might kill you. I don't know what's happened to me."

Lavender eyes widened, and Malik had to calm himself—he couldn't let Ryou see him looking disheveled. "You? Kill me? Psh—please." He rubbed his wrists a little, still feeling the grip of Ryou's hands there. "I can deal with anything you dish out."

Ryou was silent for a moment, and then—then he chuckled, just a little (it was more of a hiccup, really), and he tried his best to smile, wiping his tears. "You-you're right, Malik. I shouldn't worry, right? Maybe I'm just being...silly..."

Malik held him for a second—he didn't think he ever quite _relished_ the feeling of holding a crying Ryou before—giving him an extra squeeze. "I won't leave," he said. "I promise."

He let Ryou slink off to bed after that, and promised not to take too long to join him. Making his way to the kitchen, he decided it was time for a small drink.

Ryou h/ad never touched him like that, ever, and he'd been limp as a kitten by the time he'd backed away. Shaking his head, he pulled a winecooler from the fridge and let tha/t be that. _Ryou could kill you_. He hadn't been serious, he hoped. _In your sleep_. But he would never do something like that. Malik had been the one to kill, the one to wantonly take the lives of others in sacrifice to his goal. Ryou wasn't a killer. Just because Bakura did it didn't mean that _Ryou _could._ He **said** he could._

The bottle slipped from his grasp. _Damn_. Catching it just as it caught a corner on the refrigerator door, he closed it and moved to the counter, looking out into the living room where they'd just been, watching the scene replay in his mind closing his eyes—he could feel the tense muscle behind Ryou's hands as they gripped him. Setting the bottle down, he rubbed at his wrists again. There weren't marks or anything—it was just..._different_.

Malik frowned suddenly; he noticed a crack in the bottle, near the base. He turned to grab a cloth to clean whatever was spilling—and a glass, for the rest. How had tonight ended up the way it did? The vivid bits swirled in his head, becoming memories: Ryou had gotten upset, didn't want Malik to leave, and then—pressed him against the door. Slammed him against the door. That's how he would _remember _it. And Malik had been helpless. He hadn't been able to wrestle away. It was ridiculous, really. He needed to get to the gym more often, now—he didn't ever want to feel like that again, not with Ryou ignoring his request to let go. Even Bakura... _Well, no, that isn't fair_. He was the cause of all of this in the first place.

"Malik?" he voice came floating, barely there, from their bedroom.

"Coming," he answered. _No. Definitely no sex tonight_, was his first thought. There was too much he had to sift through. Turning back to the counter, he shrugged. "Oh," he added. The bottle hadn't leaked anything. He picked it up, to make sure nothing was pooling at the bottom. _Nope. It's fine._

Well, he had the glass anyway. He might as well take a drink or two to bed with him.

* * *

><p>Edited 924/11.

So...my computer at work decided to crash... anyway, enjoy, I suppose.


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